


infatuation

by Orgasmic death (Snuffantasy), Snuffantasy



Category: The Collection (2012), The Collector (2009)
Genre: Age Difference, Bloodplay, Bondage, Degradation, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gore, Gunplay, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Other, POV Third Person, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sex, Shibari, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Snuff, Stalking, Teacher-Student Relationship, The Collection (2012) - Freeform, The Collector (2009) - Freeform, asa's pov, degradation kink, fuck it if i think of anythin more i'll just add it as i go, gender neutral reader, professor! asa emory, teacher!asa emory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snuffantasy/pseuds/Orgasmic%20death, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snuffantasy/pseuds/Snuffantasy
Summary: For several long months now, there was nothing he could do- Ever since that fateful day of nearly being caught, the man's need to grasp something grew.Until he finally caught something that he had his eye on.
Relationships: Asa Emory/Reader, The Collector/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. nostalgic attraction

Not yet.

Not yet, he thinks. 

He just wasn't ready- hell, the thing he'd wanted to get his hands on so bad wasn't either. 

As the sound of his shoes echo off the school hallways, every thought he has about a particular student grows louder. They're itching at him, and he feels though this is exactly what he's been looking for since the very beginning.  
As a child, it was a daily occurrence to be swept through his father's museum. What, exactly the man collected wasn't consistent, yet people gathered from all sorts of places just to get a peek at some of the oddities Asa's father figure had in store for an audience's viewing pleasure. Through all the pieces and glass-encased creatures was one he just couldn’t get his eyes off.   
A carefully carved marble statue- Greek? Surely not, it seemed too modern.

Roman? No, it wasn’t exactly this style either.   
Whomever or whatever this piece was from had been unknown, yet his father hoarded it for such reasons as well. The skin of the mock-human looked as though it would have some soft texture to it, that viewers would be able to feel the presence of the docile eyes as if real.   
  
The body was a representation of immaculate perfection in the boy’s eyes, with lovely posture and poise, it’s fingertips carefully placed at the face in a permanent look of softness. Many a time his smaller hands had been tempted to grope the piece in hopes that the rock would spring to life and accept all the fantasies he’d found himself with about it. Such they go with a real life person he’s seen on campus with those exact same traits, himself now being a middle aged man playing a grumpy college professor. A deep longing for human touch had plagued his very being since Asa was just that young of a boy, ogling at the bare skin of a pretty immovable object.   
  


And he would have it.   
No, scratch that.  
Instead of just touching the thing he so thought about- he’d go for much more.   
  
These ideas are sliced through as he spots that marble statue in the flesh. It’s human now. He can touch it. _He can see it waving at him.  
  
_

And Mr. Emory gives a nod of recognition back, a soft gesture as they awkwardly return to their business, which is a phone call.  
Only a few words were heard for him to make his next move. “library” and “tomorrow”. 

It didn’t matter if they were ready anymore- he’d have this human memory of childhood encased forever. 


	2. stagnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For now, his longing was in a moment of calm, being kept at bay by a presence he'd never thought he'd come back to.

Asa Emory had a deep love for the library. A quiet retreat for him to work in on noisy days, where even the slightest background cough or scrape of a chair meant nothing to the immovable silence. Truly, if there was any place on earth he'd rather be than at home, it would be here now, as the apple of his eye begins to settle down just like they said they would over the phone yesterday. Like an intent cat, the man's dark eyes peer over cheap reading glasses. Even now in the most mundane of settings they were stunning. He could breathe this moment, he wished to lap it up similar to how he'd adore lapping the salt of sweat from their skin.

Just as he begins to feel himself staring, they shuffle unbothered, snapping his black orbs from reverie. Professor Emory begins to stand after a moment, shuffling through a shelf close by just for a glimpse at some locks he'd thought about running his thick fingers through more than once. His thumb and forefinger begin to scratch thoughtfully at the stubble on his chin, feigning interest in the books before him when in reality he was only thinking of a step forwards. Right then, as if on cue the other person stands, turns the corner to the shelf and plants their feet a good foot beside him. Here, the man nearly wants to purr with an unrestrained satisfaction. Did they know him? 

Time to test the waters. 

"Sorry to bother you but...no one's at the front desk- Would you...know where the Entomology section is?" His voice is hushed, low and with a soothing ring to it that he could obviously see the other flustered at or nervous, maybe it was just some form of natural anxiety- whatever it was, he adored it. 

It didn't seem like they did, simply pointing him to a row of books they'd seen on the way in that might be of interest or worth looking at on the subject. The man gives a gruff thanks, only to turn tail to said area. It doesn't matter if it's helpful- as now he could replay the scene of the other pair of eyes darting up to his. 

The quick lock of the moment allowed him to finally get a true look at them. Asa nearly has to tell his own heart to steady in it's chest as he swallows thickly in a silent excitement for further contact. Once again, an image of their face flashes behind his eyelids. Then, a memory of craning his neck upwards to facially greet a statue. Truly, this person was a deity of beauty. A silent charm from his past sparked whenever they showed that he was unable to express. There was really only one true way to do so, and it would be to claim him as theirs. Sliding a few books in his hand from this newer shelf, the college professor once again seats himself in his corner, wishing he'd maybe taken a closer spot to them had he known.

Though, this could be the perfect spot as well, as now he could sneak glances in their unknowing direction as he finished working. Pen darting across paper, fiddling on a laptop- it really was of no importance what surface they touched- he dreamily watches the pair of hands dance across them all, a knot in his stomach forming at the thought of them grazing the surface of his body in the same way. 

Those lovely hands, he figured would look beautiful tied together at his disposure. Bound up high where he can see the fingers squirm about as he trails his own over the opposing flesh. Where he can finally get a full scent of them on him, where he can dive his face in their chest like he'd always so desired. He'd treat them kindly the first time. Maybe.

Asa wasn't sure if it truly was in his nature to be this docile for so long. 

Before he knows it, the sound of a chair nearby scraping across the floor is audible. This person's day seems to be over, from how they look to be packing away their things and setting them back into place. Asa's heart thunders at different possibilities and their outcomes- he could hastily pack up all the papers he'd been grading and follow them, or would that be too much?

It didn't matter anymore, it would be random and awkward enough for it to have to pass. Once the last thing is less than carefully placed away, the man follows the sound of their trademark footsteps. He'd finally spent just enough time by them to differentiate their steps from any other's, giving him more than enough tidbits on how they went around, their weight and just how lovely of a gait they had overall. The dark haired man begins to pick up the pace a little, getting enough of an eyeful of a tasteful backside. Busily pounding fingers at his phone in hand, he doesn't notice the pack of papers that slip from their folder and sprawl out into open ground before the other pair of feet. Cursing, the man awkwardly fumbles through them, a silent trap of his own. And it worked too- 

"Let me help you with that-"

Asa smiles something figuratively sweet to this response, chuckling out yet another thanks. "Say I've been looking for a proctor or an...assistant for my class- you wouldn't happen to be free for this position would you? It's a paid opportunity, of course. If you're ever interested just drop by the lab." He watches opposing pretty lips part, restraining his thumb from darting out to caress the lower extremity of them.

This surely was torture, having them this close yet being unable to ravage their body- to truly explore the body before him. 

They reply, something uncertain. But still, they may drop in his class if the thought crossed their mind again. In the moment though, he's gathered the spilled items with their lovely help, his own eyes fixated on their figure once standing. Parting with a chaste goodbye and yet another thanks from his part, both parties finally split at the doors. All Asa needed to do was wait, then he could have them melting in his hands. 


	3. intimidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning, they would be butterflies.

Asa watches the last trail of students trickle out from his classroom, the footsteps fading as the last person left the door slightly ajar on their way out. Then, a sudden eerie silence followed, as though it had been catching up to him. Nothing but the hands of time on the wall was to be heard, a soft ticking that had him absentmindedly elsewhere. The man begins to recoil into this quietness, savoring every second the clock makes- a therapy to the incessant sounds of day. 

He stares up at an encased butterfly. _Cabbage White_ was scribbled faintly under it in his trademark handwriting, it being one of the most common types. 

In a split second, an image of familiar skin and hands pinned to the wall replace it instead. Under blue tacks, the hands that so intently worked at the library the other day were painfully writhing under this grip, clawing, grasping at anything to save them. Him, they would be crying out and grasping for _him_ , and only him- he'd make sure of it. 

The sound of their voice had left him marinating in his own thoughts about how his name would roll off their impeccable tongue, how the throat would bob and stop at his own hand restraining it from another breath. Swallowing thickly at these ideas, professor Emory's eyes flicker to a new sound. Someone was at the door. He's silent, an intent look at them that he hoped would tear an answer to this disturbance. "I...you said you were looking for an assistant the other day...?" 

He nods, typing away the last sentence at his computer- a silent urge for them to get to the point already.   
“I’m free for this position, if you’d like.”   
  


As he would, the man’s brain was groping at the very idea of such contact with them. The dark haired man clears his throat in thought, the silent purr of the monitor and clicking of his mouse a symphony to his silence. “Of course...there’s a schedule for you. Your first task is to pick it up in the printer room.” This voice is monotone, truly a difference in what he’d showed them the other day- that was merely the bait.   
This time, he wants this person to experience him in his element. 

Eyes glued to the screen in mock disinterest, his pupil darts to the side momentarily to burn into their figure once more as they leave.

He’d hold those hips in a crushing grip, he’d trail his lips from their neck to bosom leaving blooms of color on that skin. Asa Emory would lavish into a tension he’d create himself, for himself and no one else. They were just the cause of such a vibe. It was their fault, after all- for being so perfectly breakable to him.   
Their steps through the doorway make him sigh tiredly, as he listens to them speak. “Today is...my first day...?”   
  
The brows that stared at the newly received paper furrow, relaxing in understanding as Asa slaps a pack of work on the desk before him, head still turned from their view. A clean, trimmed nail of his finger points at the note of instructions on the front. Eyeing them take a seat once more, his built hands retreat to their place on the keyboard.   
A new type of silence is found in the moment, an awkwardness to the situation that is familiar to the collector. People usually didn’t strike conversation, and it was fine by him- he didn’t want to partake in incessant talk.   
  


There’s just something about the opposing person. A scent on them, a delicious fear he dared to touch right now. Especially not when that soul was being so good for him, but...they could be so much better in other ways. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comin to realize that this grown ass man is no different from a teenage girl smh


	4. Pliant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving in for a brief minute, a breath of fresh air.

Eventually, that day had led to a week, several even. Quite a few where the man was left dumbstruck at how simple it was to keep someone at bay.   
They didn’t complain about treatment or pay, as he made sure through his mannerisms that there would be none of that if they wanted to stay.   
Which they did, of course- for some unknown reason to him.   
Maybe they were giving Asa chances, trying and truly testing that he wasn’t as cold as he seemed. Time and time again with how much they’d warm up to him, he’d shoot them cold looks and confusing, controlling messages that anchored them to him.   
  


Such as this very moment, the day having been elongated to its end. Another one full of sneaky glances to places he’d promised himself never to linger on too much, but this time his desire was eating him whole. Oh, here it was happening again. Black eyes attempt to feel the opposing thighs, his own fingertips tapping gently at his desk in thought as he gazed off at the floor for a second instead. Was he in the mood to leave bruises on them through his fingers, or was he perhaps in the mindset of wanting to place his head between them and devour the taste between?   
  


"Excuse me...? Sir?" 

They had already picked up on this too- how he'd only show them half of his attention when called by that title, and boy did the term accompanied with his fantasies drive him to a quiet madness. "Is this how you wanted this done?" They lean into his seated position at his desk, to where he could nearly smell them. 

A scent that activated a primordial need for touch, the other's warmth rubbing into Asa's figure in his typically cold lab, just as he liked to keep it. What would he delve into first?  
Touching their hands, grazing his skin over theirs from wrist to shoulder where he could pull them into his face by the back of their head?

Or would he simply pull them into his open, willing lap for them to truly feel this energy- no, he wouldn’t dare such a thing at this point with them.   
Asa’s hands slide the work out of typically nervous hands, setting it away just now. “Shouldn’t you be leaving?” He asks, deciding to finish it for himself since they were going to be this incompetent.   
“Guess I lost track of time- Sorry I was just trying to finish-“ excuses spilled from lips he forced himself to look away at. 

The professor stands, towering over them for a brief minute. He held this position with them just long enough for an intimidating effect to his fingertips that so casually tipped their forehead upwards. If they wanted to stay so badly, he’d have to keep them occupied. To which he did with this fixed gaze where he reveled in theirs. They stare back at the rough looking outlines of his face, the stubble that lined his cheeks and crawled up into messy yet clean looking dark hair.

But the eyes, his eyes were two lumps of coal that burned at the thoughts behind them. Before they could croak out a response, a large hand dives into the lower aspect of their figure. “Good, showing me that you can work so hard.” His voice rumbles into the cave of the other’s ear as he leans into it.   
Asa Emory is able to feel the statue. Just how frozen they are, like stone. And yet, so plastic as he begins to pace cautious hands over their back to properly kiss at their neck. His face is rough against theirs, but his unshaven texture isn’t to blame for the marks they melted in. 

He takes his time, making sure to savor every bite of their warming skin that began to flush against him. The feel of their pulse on his mouth was exquisite, every time he closed his teeth on it being a challenge to stop it.  
Other pair of hands find themselves on his back, his sides, tanging into the hair at his head- it’s hard to tell when he makes sure they light up every sensation he has.   
Slow, paced kissing is loud in the room but unheard by the both of them in this moment, as fingertips begin to explore more than just exposed skin.   
Gingerly, the man peels himself from them as he had pulled from the other a pleasured sound- whatever spot he’d bitten into he’d make note of to play with again. That noise was his wake-up call, for how dreamy this situation he’d gotten himself into was.   
The opposing person shuffles as they adjust, watching the teacher pack his things and leave as though nothing had happened.   
  
Asa flicked the lights off as he passed the doorway, leaving it open in a hopeful way of thinking they’d follow. 


End file.
